My room – or rather my LAB – is full of energy.
When I enter it, it switches on and is in perfect tune with me, stimulating a lively exchange of ideas. It is my lair. Out come the materials smelling of the Santa Maria Novella pot-pourri – and suddenly it is chaos.

Then, sample by sample, I put everything back in place, folding the materials back into their original creases, always respecting the order without changing the position they had previously. All the while I am performing this exquisite ritual, out come even long forgotten materials that present themselves again suggesting new combinations of colours and materials.

In my room everything is cared for, everything is loved, everything is ordered – always, with the exception of the moments of creative chaos in which everything is out and dominated by the urge to arrive at the final result – the imagined object which craves to be realised. Even the pins end up on the floor, as do the threads and the silk cuttings. But at the end everything is returned to its rightful place because only order allows me to think clearly and fully about the next job. There mustn’t be any left-overs!

The lightness of completion – that is the sensation I feel every time I finish a work. Behind every work there is a concept, a narrative.

The final, winning concept underpins, synthesises and contains within itself all the important stages which led to the final objective.

The stronger the concept, the less the need for explanation because it cannot be expressed in other words. Lightness goes and in hand with commitment, and with research: lightness contains a discipline which is not encumbering. It is like a substance immersed in emptiness which nullifies the material weight of the work.

Lightness procures pleasure; it doesn’t require the burden of decoration or explanation.
Lightness is a job cleanly done: lightness is felt when the finished work seems to have created itself.